Chapter 2: Wren

The 312 Bookstore, nestled in the bustling city of Chicago, happened to be where I worked as a bookseller—a wonderful job that I cherished.

In my 22 years of life, I’d never secured a job as satisfying and fulfilling as this one. Maybe it was because I was such a lover of good books or because I loved the scent of paper and ink. Whatever the case, this place was a sanctuary that offered limitless access to countless books.

I'd always had an insatiable hunger for knowledge, to feed my mind with important things that mattered. It wasn't just about absorbing information, nor was it just about fiction. No, my love for books transcended beyond that.

I wanted to grow and enhance my ability to think. I wanted to use my knowledge to help humanity, to solve problems in the ways that I could. And that passion was what fueled my love for reading.

I had a friend, Julia, who never passed on any opportunity she got to learn something new—to improve herself. And in more ways than one, she inspired me to be better, to desire more knowledge.

One would say that I was a bibliophile. They wouldn't be too far from the truth.

Reading helped me relax. It broadened my imagination and sharpened my mind. Sometimes, it was a means to escape my own reality.

Advocating for those who wanted to gain knowledge but couldn't due to one circumstance or another was a dream I had. It seemed silly thinking about it, but deep down, it was what I wanted to do.

Regardless of how stupid and unrealistic it seemed, it brought me some kind of peace and comfort whenever I thought it through.

Maybe one day, I might live the dream; I might become the woman I envisioned every night before going to bed—strong, confident, accomplished, and financially free.

But until then, I was just an ordinary bookseller in one of the biggest bookstores in the city.

I didn't have much, wasn't living a life of luxury, but I was satisfied. As long as I had books to read, I was good.

Behind the counter, I stood surrounded by the familiar interior and the scent of aged paper.

With a courteous smile playing on my lips, my gaze roamed across the space, taking in the cozy reading nooks, comfortable armchairs, and meticulously placed floor lamps.

Before me, the store unfolded like a treasure trove, rows of shelves towering toward the high ceilings like sentinels. Chandelier lights and table lamps cast their soft glows, enveloping the space and creating a warm, inviting atmosphere.

The plush rugs that carpeted the floor quieted the footsteps of browsing customers as they glided through the aisles, checking out our collection.

The tiny bells above the door jingled as it swung open, and she waltzed in, her bright green eyes scanning the space before settling on me.

Her lips curled into a charming smile as she approached me, her shoes soundless against the rug. Her backpack was slung over her left shoulder, her long, wavy brown hair cascading down her back as her porcelain skin simmered in the lights.

Lorena Campbell: a twenty-year-old student slash part-time model who also happened to be a regular here at the 312 Bookstore. Our passion for books was one thing we had in common; another was the fact that we were both petite.

Lorena was like the sister I’d never had, and from the minute we met a few months ago, we clicked on so many levels. She was a kind, loving, and caring human being, not to mention fun to hang around.

I rested my hands on the counter, fingers drumming against the polished surface as she halted in front of me.

“Hey, Wren!” She flung her backpack onto the countertop.

“Hey, Lori, how's it going?” I asked, watching her unzip her backpack to withdraw a book.

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, you know how it is, balancing school and work—shit can be exhausting, and it's kicking my ass.” She jerked her head to face me, her voice laced with exhaustion.

I laughed lightly, rubbing my eyes. “Yeah, I totally get how you feel.” My gaze settled on the book in her hand. “What've you got there?”

She held up a worn paperback. “Can I get a recommendation for Pride he’d been in some sort of trouble, and he apparently needed my help getting out of it. The moment I gave him the money he asked for, he vanished. I hadn't seen or heard from him until now.

Should I be glad that he was okay, or should I be mad that he ghosted me for two long years?

My brows knitted together, mirroring the turmoil within me.

“Hey, Wren.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his lips curled up into a smile, his voice a low whisper.

Seeing that grin on his face melted my heart and dispelled whatever pent-up rage I had holed up inside me.

“You look good,” he remarked, his gaze lingering over me as I halted in front of him.

My cheeks flushed at his words, my eyes meeting his. “You don't look so bad yourself,” I said, my gaze roaming over his features, lingering on the sharp jawline, the hazel brown eyes, and the mob of messy hair.

A smile spread across his chiseled face.

He was wearing a black T-shirt over a pair of faded jeans. Dad looked better than the last time I saw him, and maybe this was a good sign; maybe he'd changed.

“Wanna come in?” I smiled widely, looking into his eyes to discreetly search for any sign of insincerity.

My keys jingled as I approached the door and opened it. I walked into my apartment, his footsteps following behind me. Taking my jacket off, I flung it over a couch in my living room as I headed to the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.”

The couch crunched beneath his weight as he sank into it.

“What would you like to eat?” I asked, opening the fridge to check what supplies I had stored in it.

“Just water will be fine,” he replied, shooting a glance in my direction.

“Are you sure?” I squinted, staring at him with knitted brows.

He flashed a wry smile. “Positive.”

“Okay,” I mumbled, pouring him a glass.

His gaze was sweeping across my cozy living room when I arrived with a glass of water. “Thank you.” He accepted it, nodding.

I took a seat on a sofa across from him, my heart racing with anticipation as I wondered what had brought him here today. “So, Dad,” I began, rubbing my palms over my lap, my gaze fixed on him, “to what do I owe this visit?”

He set the glass down on the coffee table and lifted his eyes. “I'm that terrible at parenting that my visits are now being questioned,” he teased, a faint grin playing on his lips.

“Well, you can't blame me for thinking there's an ulterior motive behind you stopping by—I mean, the last time I saw you was two years ago, which I'm still mad about, by the way,” I said with an accusing tone, laced with a hint of teasing and genuine annoyance.

“You're right,” he said, heaving a sigh. “I've been such a terrible father to such an amazing woman.” His voice, dripping with emotion, melted my heart. “I don't deserve to have you as a daughter, Wren. You're too good for me.” His gaze never left my face.

I sat there, frozen in shock, eyes slowly widening at his words.

Did he mean them? Was he being genuine?

The flutter in my chest stole my breath away, and all I could do in that moment was hope and pray that this wasn't another one of his tricks to get into my good graces.

“You've done so much for me, and that alone makes it a lot harder to ask this of you.” He sighed heavily, his gaze lingering on me.

Oh, here we go again .

My face fell, my expression softening into a gentle disappointment.

I should've known better.

I'd seen his movie before, and I knew how it always ended, yet I chose to give him the benefit of the doubt once again. And, once again, he let me down.

What was I thinking, believing he'd changed?

My eyebrows drooped, lips turning downward as he shattered my hopes of getting my father back.

“Do you have some money saved up?” he dared to ask, avoiding my eyes. “I could really use some right now, sweetheart. Your old man needs saving again.”

My heart ached, eyes misting at how shamelessly he was using me. He wouldn't bother to call, wouldn't bother to check on me, but the moment he was in trouble, he'd remember that I existed.

Sometimes, I wondered if he had any idea how much his actions were hurting me.

I sniffed, throwing my head up in an attempt to force my tears back. “I’m afraid I can't help you this time, Dad.” I looked into his eyes, disappointment flickering in their depths. “I wish I could help you, but I can't. I've used up all of my savings to pay my bills.”

His eyes, once hopeful, dulled, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of my words. His lips trembled subtly, his gaze darting away to hide his pain. “I understand.” He cleared his throat.

No matter how mad I was at him, if I had the money to spare, I'd do that without a moment of hesitation. But today, I sincerely had nothing to help with.

I jerked my head, watching him rise to his feet, ready to take his leave. My face contorted into a faint frown. “Wait, that's it? You're just gonna leave?” My blood boiled with annoyance as I glared at him.

“If you can't help me, then I need to find a way to help myself,” he replied, his voice dropping to a hushed tone and his eyes avoiding mine.

I rose to my feet, a dismissive laugh escaping my lips. “You're unbelievable.” My scowl deepened, creating more creases on my forehead.

He exhaled sharply and stormed out without saying a word, leaving me standing perplexed in my living room, simmering in silence.

My mind flooded with anger, disappointment, and pain as the familiar ache of abandonment settled in. When was he going to realize that beneath this strong, independent woman was a little girl in desperate need of her father's attention?

Tears rolled down my cheeks.